


'Cause Even the Stars, They Burn

by Dayo488



Category: Queen of the South (TV)
Genre: Explanations, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Season 5 spec
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29687415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dayo488/pseuds/Dayo488
Summary: Teresa waits for James to wake up after surgery to his abdomen after being stabbed.
Relationships: Teresa Mendoza/James Valdez
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	'Cause Even the Stars, They Burn

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this came from, but it popped in my brain so I wrote it down and am giving it to all of you. 
> 
> Don't worry, I'm not done writing Bellarke 😉 Just taking a quick side-trip.
> 
> Hope you enjoy ❤

_ They’re coming for you. _

Teresa woke with a start, blinking rapidly in the artificial light. She pressed her fingertips to her eyes, squeezing them shut again before breathing deep and opening them again. Her gaze landed on him, because of course it did. He hadn’t moved since she’d fallen asleep some undetermined time ago. 

“Teresita…” the low baritone voice sounded from the doorway, joining the steady beeping of the machine to her right. “Let me take over. You need rest.”

She swung her head around to look at him, knowing that her face was going to do her no favors in convincing Pote that she was fine. “No. I’m staying here.”

Pote stared at her, his jaw working over something, clearly trying to figure out whether to say something else but seemingly deciding against it. It was almost a repeat of Phoenix, when she’d waited for Lil T to wake. Back when she’d been trying to figure out who James was to her in the wake of Guero’s death. And when Pote had called her on it.

_ He will die for you _ .

She forced air into her lungs, praying to a god she didn’t believe in anymore that this was not that coming true.

Pote nodded once and left and she laid heavily back in the uncomfortable waiting room chair, sighing deeply.

She’d been half convinced she was dreaming - that James wasn’t really laying in front of her, drugged to the nines so the doctors could fix whatever damage the knife had done.

The knife… wielded by who the fuck knew because he’d passed out not even a whole minute after he practically fell out of the car at the warehouse. 

Teresa rubbed her hands over her face again, pulling out her phone to check for missed messages, though she knew there wouldn’t be any - Pote and George were taking care of things for now. But that wouldn’t last long and eventually she knew she would need to leave. She glanced at him again, sleeping the drugs off soundly. 

_ Because you’re in it every time you close your eyes. _

Teresa let out a breath and stood, walking to the lone window in the room. For all the trouble being there had caused, New Orleans was still really beautiful.

She finally heard a groan from behind her and she spun around, waiting to see if this was indeed the moment. Her heart raced with anticipation, but she remained where she was.

“Hey,” she said softly when he finally opened his eyes.   


“Water,” he croaked out, trying to clear his throat. 

“Yeah…” she said, tucking a dark curl behind her ear and pouring a small cup from the pitcher next to the bed. She put a straw in and walked over to place it in his waiting hand. 

Once he was done, she set it down on the table next to him and she turned back to notice him starting to look around for the first time. “Where am I?” he asked absently, until his gaze caught on the machine next to him and the IV in his arm and he bolted upright, pulling at the oxygen in his nose. “I need to get out of here. You brought me to a hospital,” he accused irritatedly.   


She tried to stop him, pulling his hands away from the various medical devices. “Stop, you need to stop.  _ James _ ,” she said pointedly, almost pleading. She’d never liked sounding like that, but they’d only  _ barely _ gotten him to the doctor in time. He’d needed two full bags of blood when in surgery, and the doctor said his heart had even stopped at one point. 

His name out her lips seemed to be the only thing that finally got him to stop pulling, though his muscles remained tense and his jaw clenched, clearly still on edge.

_ They’re coming for you _ .

Were they coming for him too?

She let go of his hands once she was reasonably certain he wasn’t going to try again, though that just caused them fist at his side. “What is going on?” she asked him.   


“I hate hospitals. And I can’t be here.  _ You  _ can’t be here. It’s not safe.”

“You almost died. You needed surgery,” she insisted, unmoving and unwilling to feel guilty about keeping him alive. “And the doctor that signed you in used a fake name. No one knows you’re here. Just me, George, and Pote.”

That seemed to help some and his fists slowly loosened. “You got a doctor in an actual hospital on payroll, hmm?”

“Yeah, well, she was mine, when I was in here a couple weeks ago,” she said quietly, though she probably should’ve just let the question pass rhetorically. The reason for her being in the hospital was too raw, too painful to revisit yet, if ever.

He glanced at her more intently then, his dark eyes boring into hers in that way that had always made her squirm a little, like he was seeing more of her than she wanted people to see, like she couldn’t hide from him.

_ You don’t need to hide from me. _

Teresa sighed and finally sat down in the chair she’d slept in all night, his eyes tracking her movements carefully. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally said.

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “Sorry? For what?”

“I should’ve been here. In that chair, waiting for you to be the one to wake up. I tried to be,” he told her, looking away. His hands fiddled in his lap, his fingers rubbing at the tendon between his thumb and forefinger on the other. He did that a lot, usually when he was agitated, when he was being self-deprecating. She’d looked it up once - turned out applying pressure to that spot actually was a way to calm anxiety and pain. She wished it worked for her like it seemed to for him.

“What does that mean - you tried to be?”

“It means that when I found out about the explosion, about Tony… about  _ you _ … about what they had in store for you... I tried to leave. But they wouldn’t let me. So I busted out. It took a while, clearly I’m a couple weeks too late to be of any use. But… I tried to be here. I’m sorry I wasn’t.”

She nodded. The ever elusive  _ they _ prominent in his explanation.

“They caught up to me, at one point near Baton Rouge,” he groaned, trying to sit up straighter.

“You ever gonna tell me who exactly it is that is after me? And apparently you?”

“Teresa, I wasn’t… I lied to you, about why I left.”   


She remained still, waiting for him to finish, though fear sliced through her.

“I didn’t want to go. I mean, I meant what I said about you questioning my loyalty all the time - ”

“ - James - ”

“ - but I  _ wanted _ to stay. I wanted to try again.”   


“So why  _ did _ you leave?” she asked. 

“Devon Finch.”

Teresa’s heart sank and a pit formed in her stomach. She looked away.

“He works with - he’s CIA, Teresa.”

Her head whipped around to face him again, the last thing she expected him to say having tumbled from his mouth. “The CIA?”

He nodded. “Apparently I made too many waves in Texas. And then Phoenix. They’d been tracking the whole thing. I was too much of a loose cannon. And in order to keep you - keep  _ the business _ safe - ” he corrected himself one word too late. “The price they wanted paid was me. So I left with them.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“What would you have done?” he asked.

She sighed. “I wouldn’t have let them take you.”

A flash of surprise, as always when she said things like that to him, passed over his expression briefly before a side smile appeared on his lips. “That’s why. I had to protect you. You can’t fight the CIA.”

“You did,” she pointed out, gesturing slightly to his current state. 

James huffed. “I caught wind of what they were planning for you and then the explosion happened. I had to get out.”

“You’re always trying to keep me alive,” she said softly, more to herself than to him.

Teresa leaned over on the bed, putting her face in her hands as she desperately tried to process through the information. 

Epifanio and Camila.

El Santo.

The DEA.

Colonel Cortez. 

La Comisión.

The Judge.

They were all one thing.

The CIA? That was another problem entirely. 

_ How do you fight a ghost? _

She felt his hand on her shoulder, his fingers on her back pressing lightly. She’d missed his touch - the touch of someone who understood her, respected her, cared for her. Safety was a rarity in her business, but James’s touch gave her a tiny glimpse of that.

“Are you alright, Teresa?” 

“Just trying to wrap my head around all of it.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

_ Tony _ .

“No. But I have to be,” she answered honestly. He squeezed her shoulder a little and she instinctively leaned towards it. A finger lifted to stroke her neck, sending jolts of familiarity and warmth through her. “They’ll be coming for you too. It’s safer if you get as far away from me as possible.”

He nodded. “I know. But I’m not letting anything happen to you. I’m not leaving. Not again.” He closed his eyes and she knew she’d lose him here at some point, as well she should - he needed rest to recover from the surgery and for what was coming. And as uncomfortable as he was with being in a hospital, if he was willing to sleep, she wanted to let him.

A smile twitched at the corner of her lips. “Good. We’re in this together right?”

His eyes cracked open into slits, his hand sliding down her shoulder and her arm to her hand, grasping it tightly. She held it back with equal fervor. “Yeah… always.”


End file.
